


A Thrill Through His Fingertips

by SittingOnACornflake



Series: My Starrison Week 2020 [3]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, george isn't but he's always ready to help, it's just a cute blurb, ringo is bored, starrison, starrison week, what a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SittingOnACornflake/pseuds/SittingOnACornflake
Summary: George and Ringo can't go out of their hotel because the fans are everywhere.Ringo is incredibly bored.But maybe his boyfriend will help.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Series: My Starrison Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908394
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Starrison Week





	A Thrill Through His Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> Here's day 3!! The themes are guitar and drums and I chose both because I can :)
> 
> It's mostly just fluff but hey Ringo deserves all the fluff in the world!
> 
> I had to use these lyrics from Boys (well I changed them a bit) for the title because it's one of my favourite songs.

Ringo paces back and forth in the little room, passing repeatedly in front of George who doesn’t even lift his head from his guitar.

The room is plunged in the dark. Some dim light still comes in from the window, but they have shut the curtains and shutters. Weren’t it a bright summer day, the light would be even fainter.

They did this in an unconvinced attempt to muffle the oh so loud cries of the fans gathered all around the hotel.

Ringo can still hear them. As much as he'd like to think it’s some kind of demonstration that doesn’t even remotely concern them, he can't quite fit the high-pitched screams in his invention. This crowd doesn’t really sound like angry middle-aged workers, especially since they’re alternatively chanting his and his friends’ names. Though he _knows_ some middle-aged workers would go as far as to start a strike if that would prevent them from coming and messing with their daughters' minds. But that's not the point.

The point is, their fans were there at the airport. Some others were already in front of their hotel when the taxis pulled off just in front of the door, and the crowd has only thickened since.

The presence of all these people trying to get a glimpse of them and shouting copiously in the process isn’t something that provides as much joy and satisfaction as they had assumed it would. It is quite scary, quite overwhelming and, most importantly, quite deafening.

Most of the time, Ringo manages to forget it all just fine. After all, he gets to share a room with George, who is his best friend and bandmate and lover and basically everything Ringo could ask for in life. The occasional sounds of guitar, awkward singing or laughter coming from across the corridor are also soothing, as if meant to remind him Paul and John aren’t far away. Brian, Mal and the others are around somewhere too. Ringo knows he's not alone in this.

Still. Today, he can't quite get the fans out of his head. He needs a distraction – and the thing is he's got none. He doesn't like to read, there's no television in the room, nor newspapers. Hell, he doesn’t even have any fanmail with him.

There's nothing to do. Out of desperation, he flops on the bed next to George.

George isn't like him. It seems as if he's always fine. Even though Ringo knows this isn’t true, it still looks like George retreats in a world of his own whenever he wants. The proof is right in front of his eyes: George is paying him no mind, totally engrossed in his playing. A melody Ringo has never heard before slowly takes shape as he listens. At times, George hums to himself or mutters words that he can't quite make out even though he's inches away.

Even that sight – George creating -, as engrossing as it is, isn’t enough to distract Ringo. After a while, he turns around and faces the dark ceiling.

He lets out a sigh. There are still two hours to go before it's time to leave for their show.

It's a lot of time, and – _but something is wrong_.

The music has stopped.

Ringo turns again and sees George, hands still hovering above his instrument, looking at him with a questioning face.

“What’s going on?” George asks.

Ringo immediately feels bad. He'd thought - he'd really thought George had forgotten he was there, and now it seems like some kind of accusation from him, a false allegation that he wants to take back.

“Nothing,” he says with a small smile. “Keep playing. It's lovely.”

George smiles too. “Thanks. But tell me what's wrong first.”

“I told you. Everything's fine,” Ringo repeats, his tone harsher than he intended.

Suddenly he doesn’t know how he feels about any of this. It's a quite upsetting thought, that George would need to _ask_ what's wrong. After all, they’re supposed to be in this together. Why wouldn’t George feel the same?

He sits up and folds his legs, nervously drumming his fingers against his knee. The itch to _do something, anything_ , hits him hard and he realizes why he's restless.

_Because he's got his favourite person with him, and that's great. But he doesn’t have his favourite thing._

George's gaze is still on him, kind but unreadable. He's waiting for a real answer.

“I’m bored,” Ringo finally explains.

Or tries to explain. Once more, he curses the words that are transforming his feelings into something they are not. There's nothing exactly wrong in saying he's bored – he _is_ , really – but there's so much more to it, and how could he convey it to George. _We're in love and still words manage to get between us,_ he thinks bitterly before feeling George's left hand on his, stopping him from tapping his fingers in a rhythm he wasn’t consciously following.

George's hand on his seems to say _I understand. I understand it's not boredom in itself which is troubling you. I'll listen. Tell me._

Maybe they don’t need words after all. This is precisely what spurs him on.

“You’re so happy with your guitar. You can play for hours and you're never bored of it and I love that about you. I love it when you’re still here and playing, and at the same time you're in your world and you're not there.”

“I love it when you're here too. It seems like I don’t see you but it’s not true, you know. You're always a part of my world.”

This is so sweet Ringo feels his heart melt.

“What’s the 'but'?” George asks, not giving him time to recover.

“There’s no ‘but’ ... I just wish we could put my drums somewhere in the room. It'd be a distraction. I wish I could escape from all this like you do,” Ringo says, gesturing towards the curtains.

Ringo looks at George's face but is surprised to see him let go of his hand and put his guitar aside.

“What are you doing?”

George smiles. “Well, if you can't play your drums, it's only fair if I stop playing too.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Ringo gasps, horrified. “I’d never take your favourite thing from you!”

“Come on Ritchie, you know I couldn’t give up playing the guitar,” George scolds him gently. “It’s only for today.”

“But I don't want you to be miserable!” Ringo protests feebly.

“Who said we're going to be miserable?” George grins. “You said you needed to be distracted, right?”

Ringo nods and George shuffles closer until their faces are only inches apart. “In that case, I’ve got something in mind we can do,” he whispers. His breath ghosts over Ringo's lips before he connects their mouths. Ringo's hands surge forward on their own, needing to feel George’s body. He needs him to be closer.

George teases his lower lip but pauses for a second when he feels Ringo's hands bring him even closer, until he's straddling him. Ringo's hands settle on George’s hips, following some rhythm only known to the both of them. They smile, look in each other’s eyes and kiss again.

Sometimes you don't need drums to play drums, and it's not a cliché because it's theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Now I'll go read some fics myself, all the works I've read so far are sooo good, so check out the collection if you haven't already (there's some incredible art on tumblr too omg)


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